Every Little Dream(8)

“There always is, right?”

“I guess so.”

He leads me to a motorcycle, different from the one he crashed the other night. “Let’s not focus on such uninteresting topics.”

I take in the smooth metal of the exhaust pipe and the seat meant for one. This is the perfect way to break my good girl image as much as it terrifies me.

“Have a problem with the bike?” A sudden mask drops across his face, like he’s waiting for my disapproval.

“Are you kidding? I love it!” I rush the last few steps and run my fingers over the smooth leather of the seat. This is so perfect for my night of naughtiness. I hop on the back. “Let’s go.”

It’s his turn to stand, watching me, his face revealing surprise. For a second, he reminds me of a little boy.

I lower the pitch of my voice to calm and cool. “I mean. Sure, I love bikes.” Reminder to self: Bad girls don’t act too excited about anything.

He swings his leg onto the bike in front of me. “This is a new bike and I’m still getting used to it, so hold on, honey.” He starts the engine and it roars beneath me.

The fact that this is new to him doesn’t make me feel any better. I tap his shoulder. “What about a helmet?” I yell.

He shrugs. “You’re more than welcome to get off, but I hope you don’t.”

He’s right. Bad girls wouldn’t care about helmets, right? Then I think about his crash the other night. I tap his shoulder again. “Um, have you had too much to drink?” I have no desire to fly through the air tonight without head protection.

He turns the motor off and with the fading of the vibrations against my leg I know I’ve gone too far. He’ll let me go. He’ll say goodbye. He climbs off the bike and the crashing in my chest drains my excitement. I shouldn’t care. There have to be other cute guys that ride motorcycles out there. For some reason I feel safe with this one. I want this one.

He cups my face with his hand. “I’ve had less to drink than you. I don’t drink much anymore. And I would never put you in danger. What? Are you my guardian angel?” he jokes.

I suck in a breath. It’s the second time he’s called me that. I don’t want him to remember but at the same time I do. He called me beautiful.

He grabs my pink hair and twirls it in his finger. He casually glances at my tight tank top. Disappointment flickers in his eyes. Oh my gosh, does he want me to be that girl? Was the bad girl a turn off?

He kisses my cheek. “You’ll never have to worry when you’re with me.” He climbs back on his back. “Time to fly.”



Chad



I push the speed, the wind cutting against my skin, and Katie’s body pressing against my back. I ride the corners low, taking pleasure in the tightening of her arms around my stomach and the stifled squeal in the back of my shirt. Just a moment ago, her wide eyes reminded me of the girl from the other night. It has to be my imagination. That girl would never pick up a guy in a bar and go back to his place for a possible one-night stand. What am I thinking? A girl like that would never go home with me. Would never want me. Would never see past my rep and my bike. And that’s how I’ve wanted it.

I pull into the gravel driveway of Jimmy’s beach house. I climb off and hold my hand out, expecting to see trembling fear, but instead, exhilaration paints her face. She attempts to climb off the bike but stumbles.

I chuckle. “Who had too much to drink?”

“Pfft. Not me. I had the one.” She holds up one finger then uses it hook the bottom of my shirt, pulling me toward the house. She trips up the rotting steps.

I watch her ass wiggle as she barely makes it through the doorway without hitting the frame. I brush off the slight confusion at the contradictions. She looks experienced yet she’s buzzing off one beer. She touched me like a pro but her eyes shine with innocence.

I shut the door behind me. “Want another drink?”

“Sure. I’ll get us one. In the fridge?” She bounces into the kitchen.

I block out images of schoolgirls playing hopscotch and skipping rope. Something about her touches something in me, my past, the part I’ve forgotten and pushed down. A time of innocence when I thought the world was a bright and shiny place and my dad still played catch with me in the backyard.

But, hey, she’s bringing me a beer in my own house. She can’t be that innocent. I could get used to this and settle into the couch, which I don’t usually sit on knowing what happens on it almost every day.

“What’re you doing?” she whispers in my ear and slides a hand down the front of my chest. “I changed my mind about the beer. Can I see your room?”